


9 Hours in N's Toy Room

by orphan_account



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Black & White | Pokemon Black and White Versions
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How would you feel if you were to live your whole life as a gestating pawn? This is a typical day for ‘N’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	9 Hours in N's Toy Room

He was nestled against the thick marble door, his cheek grinding against the frame. His green mane was no longer tied together, simply sprawled out in a frizzled way that made him look manic. His eyes were bloodshot, sore from the crying. He had cried a lot. He knew that it never did anything good for him, but it was nice to cry. It was all that he knew how to do when he hadn’t gotten this way.

The intercom clicked, and he turned towards the crude speaker that was hung upon his room’s ceiling corner.

"Good morning, N. Are you done with your tantrum?" a voice fizzled.

N turned back to the door. His hand was bruised from hitting it, a deep purple splotch blossoming onto his knuckles. He bit his lip and shamefully turned to the speaker once more, as much as he hated it. The voice that came from it always gave him a headache.

"Yes, sir."

The door had been abandoned. N paced around the circle of his plush rug, his eyes locked to the pastel floor. His hands helplessly gripped at his pants, wadding up balls of fabric. He had bitten his lower lip down to a bloody pulp.

"You’ve been walking for a long time, N."

N ignored the speaker this time, even going as far as to cover his ears with his hands. He kept walking. The colors of his room sped to a blurry mess, but he didn’t care. His walk turned to a jog, then to a run.

Finally he tripped over his pant leg and fell on his face. His nose bled. He cried. From the speaker he could hear feedback and a faint scribbling.

—-

He was sitting against his pile of plushies now, their fluffy sides brushing up against his own. In his hands was his favorite toy, his menger sponge. He stroked it gently, feeling the nubs of the cube’s side rub against his skin. He was bent over it, concentrating.

"We have a new friend for you, N."

The front door opened partway, but N didn’t look up. He heard the scuff of a boot and a loud yip, and he broke out in a shiver. An uneasy scuffle of claws scuttled across the tile floor as the door closed. N didn’t raise his head until he heard the click of the door’s lock.

He knew what to expect. It was all the same with the friends that he was given, especially now that Ghetsis was letting him go on missions, and more missions meant more and more friends for every chance that he had to breathe fresh air.

A battered growlithe was staring at him, huddled in the opposite corner of his little toy room. His fur was matted, caked with built-up grease and brine. He was missing an ear, no doubt docked along with what might have once been a tail.

N didn’t hesitate. He barely noticed the usual scribbling sounds as he reared himself onto his knees and hands, the merger cube tumbling to ground. Pursing his lips, he whined and crawled forward.

It took only minutes before the two were tumbling around on the carpeted mat, their collective barking echoing in near sync. If one were to listen, they might not have been able to tell that N was human. Even in sight he looked very much like a pokémon himself, from his long green mane to his dexterity on all four limbs as the two chased one another.

The scratching from the speaker never stopped once.

—-

An hour later a masked man marched into the room and seized the growlithe by the scruff of its neck. N lunged forward with a snarl, palms stretched to cling to the man’s coat. He was only knocked to the floor, stunned.

"It has to go back to its trainer, N," the speaker announced. "It would be cruel to separate them, wouldn’t it?"

N scrambled to the door and banged on the frames. Even he wasn’t aware of the babbling nonsense that spewed from his lips.

More scribbling. More voices. All of it seemed to blend together into N’s mind. He reeled back from the door, his hands flinging up to his ears as he clawed and ripped at his hair. He could hear the speaker. He could hear the mumbling.

He wasn’t sure how long it all lasted, only that it ended in him falling asleep.

—-

He woke sprawled on the floor, his eyes facing the ceiling. Apart from the crude speaker to the side, N loved the ceiling of his room. It had always been the same, ever since he was much younger. Pastel clouds hand-painted against a sky blue. It helped to him calm down.

As he sat up, he noticed the tray of food off to his side. It was the typical affair of stew and water, which N loved very much. He loved the thick globs of potato and lettuce that floated around his bowl. Even stirring it made him quite happy.

After taking his time to eat, he lightly pushed his tray to the door.

As usual for such days, he went to go find his menger cube, grinning as he picked it up and plopped into his pile of stuffed pokémon.

The speaker was clicked on. “You usually play with your train at this time, N. Is something wrong?” it asked flatly. There was no concern in that voice. For all N knew, it was just a computer.

He flinched, instinctively glancing over at his forsaken train set, the paint battered and scuffed through many hours of play. The speaker voice was right; why wasn’t he playing with it? It was only proper routine, after all.

With that in mind, N abandoned his menger sponge and moved towards it. When he could reach out and touch the plastic tracks, he stopped.

He couldn’t understand why, but just touching the toy alone made him feel utterly ashamed of himself. Shame was a feeling that he knew nothing about, other than that it made him feel bad. It was like a sick feeling, bubbling through his gut and tightening up his chest. With a sharp hiss, he drew his hand back.

"Is something wrong?" the speaker repeated, just as flatly as before.

N didn’t know what to say. Red-faced, he put his hands to his face to blot out the light. He scanned through his memory, searching.

_“What are you doing?! N, you can’t just walk up to a playground and ‘watch’. What do you want people to think of you?”_

N recognized that voice; it was that boy that he kept running into. What was his name? Hilbert?

_“What’s wrong? I was just waiting for my turn!”_ his own voice pleaded in his own head, and he could still see the face that Hilbert made at him. N was bad at understanding human faces, but it was plain to see the confusion… and the pity.

The speaker was asking something, and N slowly slid his hands down his cheeks. The train set alluringly stared back at him.

"N?"

"No." N stood up and took a step back. "Never mind, I don’t want to."

"Why?’

"Because… I don’t know," the man admitted. He hugged himself protectively, rocking himself from side to side. "Because it’s wrong? No, no it can’t be wrong…"

"There’s nothing wrong with playing with your toys, Natural." For once, the man from the speaker sounded oddly soothing, like a short lullaby. "You’re still quite young."

"No, no! It has to be wrong. I never, ever saw anyone outside doing it," N reasoned. He clutched at his unruly ponytail, wringing the hair in his hands.

"You never went far, Natural. The world is much bigger than that," the speaker said. "Far too big for a child like you to experience."

N sank down to his knees and curled himself into a ball. “I feel strange.”

"Playing will make you feel better." The voice hesitated for a second before asking, "would you like your friend to come back?"

No arguing in that, N thought. He nodded yes, and the growlithe scampered back into his arms, whining concernedly.

—-

It was bedtime. His room was dark. His friend had been taken away once more.

N didn’t like the dark. He wailed, but no one ever came. Crying never got him anything but a venting for his own frustration.

Sleep comes with difficulty for most men in their twenties, but there was no argument in that N had the hardest time of all.


End file.
